Blessed Are the Peacemakers
by ridesandruns
Summary: Scott and Jean's argument creates unlikely conciliators.


**Blessed Are the Peacemakers**  
**Rating:** T for profanity, snarking, sexual references and gratuitous, wholly non-canonical Emma Frost references  
**Characters:** Warren, Scott, Logan, Jean  
**Summary:** Scott and Jean's argument creates unlikely conciliators.  
Don't own them, am making no money off of them, have no qualms about violating canon, etc. All hail Rachelmartin64, the world's best beta.

**Blessed Are the Peacemakers  
**By Ridesandruns

"It's really very simple, Scott," Warren said. "You tell Jean you're sorry. You tell her you'll never do it again. You tell her you're an idiot. She agrees with you, you make up, and things go back to normal."

Scott barely glanced up from the Blackbird's starboard shock strut. "No," he said.

"Let's try this again," Warren said in a pained tone. "You leave the hangar. You clean yourself up and get Jean some flowers. You go down to the medlab, and _then_ you tell her you're sorry. And don't leave out the idiot part."

"No," said Scott. He stood up, stepped back from the main landing gear assembly and wiped his oily hands down the front of his coveralls. "Because I'm not sorry. All I did was have lunch in the city with an old friend. It's my fault Jean gets hysterical and irrational?"

"Scott, you had lunch with Emma Frost, your old girlfriend, whom Jean despises and who has the distressing habit of referring to Jean – to her face, no less – as a 'cradle-robbing crone with a pedestrian dye job.' " Warren said. "You didn't tell Jean about it for two days, and then when you did, you prefaced the story with the words, 'Oh, by the way.' Jean's mad as hell, and she's been taking it out on every living soul she sees ever since. It's been three days. She might not have killed you yet, but the rest of us are ready to. Stop being stubborn. Go apologize."

"I do not have to apologize," Scott said, enunciating slowly, "because I did nothing wrong. And I'm not being stubborn, I'm just being sensible. And I don't see why you insist on butting in – and oh, Christ, this is _just_ what I need right now," he finished as a deeply irritated Wolverine stormed into the hangar.

"Summers, you get your skinny ass down to the medlab and tell Jeannie you're sorry," Logan snarled.

"Fine, thanks, and you?" Warren said brightly. "So nice to smell you again, Logan."

"Fuck you, Tweety," Logan snapped. "I ain't got time for this shit."

"He's taking time away from his busy schedule of tearing off his shirt and trying to convince Jean to dump me," Scott told Warren. "And his has to work _that_ in between stealing every vehicle I own and being a terrible influence on everyone in the mansion, including the dog."

"Yeah, well, I think I can find some time to beat your prettyboy face in," Logan said. "And I'll do it if you don't apologize to Jeannie right now."

"Do you even know what the argument's about, Metal Head?" Scott asked.

"I don't know, and I don't care," Logan spat. "But you better get your uptight ass over to the medlab and make up with Jeannie, or I ain't gonna be responsible for my actions."

"When have you _been_ responsible for your actions?" Warren inquired curiously.

"And why aren't you over in the medlab right now hitting on my fiancee?" Scott asked. "I thought she asked you to participate in some test, and you agreed because you never miss a chance to strip and strut."

"Hey, I do my part to educate the doc on what a guy looks like once he's _past_ puberty," Logan said. "But I just came from there, and I was lucky to make it out alive. She's so pissed she can hardly see straight, and she's taking it all out on me. She just about fucking killed me."

"And here you say Emma doesn't do enough to help the school," Scott chided Warren.

"Jeannie's supposed to take some blood samples from me, OK?" Logan told Warren. "So naturally, I take off my shirt so she can get a good look, because it's only a matter of time before she gets fed up with this preppy shit and wants something better."

"Has anyone ever figured out why your healing factor doesn't cure your delusions?" Scott asked.

"Fuck off, Scooter," Logan retorted. "Red barely gives me a second glance," he told Warren. "She's slamming all kinds of pointy things around on a tray and going on and on about this Frost bitch and how she hates her and how this bleached blond bimbo's always sayin' Jeannie's a pedophile and a slut. So naturally I try to make Jeannie feel better. I go, 'Jeannie, no one thinks you're a slut.' "

"Smooth," Scott said dryly. "And to think she hasn't snatched you up by now."

Logan glared at him. "And she picks up a needle the size of a fucking harpoon and rams it into my arm hard enough to break it. The needle, that is. And then she does it _again_ in my _other_ arm and then picks up another needle and mutters something about looking for fucking _veins_, and I have to tell her the dog's looking sick so she turns away to check on him and I can make a run for it." He rubbed his arms and shuddered.

"Not bad," Warren said, nodding approvingly. "That's not bad at all. Especially considering Scott always says you're a tactical moron." He turned back to Scott. "See what you've done? You've got the Wolverine cowering behind a beagle. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"I ain't _cowering_," Logan snapped. "I came here to beat some sense into prettyboy's head." He glared at Scott. "Captain Tightass screws up, and I'm the one who suffers here. Big fucking shock."

Warren snorted. "That's it? You think you've got it bad? I was in the middle of the biggest real estate deal of my life, and I had it interrupted by a call, we're talking skull-to-skull transmission here, from Charles. Telling me he has to lock himself inside Cerebro to escape the madness. And if I don't come to his rescue he's going to make me think I'm a monk vowed to poverty. Scott, I had to leave behind Donald Trump and the knowledge that I could have had him shrieking and begging for mercy like Wolverine aboard the Blackbird." He glared at his friend. "You owe me, big time."

"You wanna tell me how the fuck you know what I'm like on the jet?" Logan snapped.

Warren made a dismissive gesture. "Scott told me. Scott told everyone. Get a couple of beers in him and he does imitations, too. It's a scream. But we're getting off message here." He turned back to Scott. "Go to Jean, tell her you're sorry. Keep saying it until she believes you. Keep saying it until I can go back to making money."

"Tell her you're a stupid, sorry shit with an undersized dick who doesn't deserve her," Logan suggested. "Tell her she needs to work through this Mrs. Robinson crap and get herself a real man. Maybe someone who _can't_ pass for a 12-year-old."

Scott glared at him. "Gee, you think that'll make her feel better?" he asked sarcastically.

"Nah," Logan said. "But it'll make me feel better. And since your damn girlfriend nearly fucking killed me in the medlab, I deserve it."

"You deserve a lot of things, Logan," Scott said between gritted teeth, hefting a wrench ominously.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Warren said, moving between them. "You know what your problem is?" Warren asked Logan. "Besides the hair, the clothes and the profound lack of personal hygiene, I mean? You don't know the history here. Sometime when I'm not so rushed, I need to walk you through Scott and Jean: The Jailbait Years."

Logan looked Scott up and down and snorted. "Looks to me like they're still in the jailbait years, bub."

"Go to hell, hairball," Scott snapped.

"I refer to the era they spent stalking each other while she waited for him to get legal and he hooked up with Emma Frost and refined his telepath mojo."

"Telepath mojo?" Logan said.

"I don't have — " Scott began. "And no one stalked anyone – "

"Telepaths find him irresistible," Warren told Logan. "He draws them like manure draws flies. No one's sure why. It's actually rather creepy. Before Jean, there was Emma. Before Emma, there was – "

"Don't say Chuck," Logan begged. "Please don't say Chuck."

"No, no," Warren said. "Actually, her name was – "

"Who the hell are you, the town crier?" Scott interrupted irritably. "First of all, no one stalked anyone. Second, what the hell is this 'mojo' crap? Third, this is none of his damn business. Fourth, this is none of _your_ damn business."

Warren rolled his eyes.

"Scott, of course it's my business," he said impatiently. "Jean's still giving me hell for recruiting Emma to the school. And let's not forget that back then I had the room next to yours and had to listen to you and Emma all night every night Charles was out." He shuddered. "You have any idea what it's like to have to listen to someone yell 'Oh, Scott! Don't stop! Oh, Scott!' at the top of her lungs?" he asked Logan. "Night after night?"

"Do the words 'advanced hearing' mean anything to you, Birdbrain?" Logan said sourly. "Just what the fuck do you think my life is like around here? I'd cut off my fucking ears if I thought it would do any good. Jesus Christ. Xavier can buy the Boy Wonder a goddamn jet, and he can't find me a decent pair of earplugs?"

"But the happy couple's on the third floor now, and you're on the second," Warren pointed out.

Logan snorted. "Makes no difference to me, bub. I hear 'em all the goddamn time. All over the fucking house, too. Just last week I had to listen to her – "

"Could the two of you just shut the hell up about my private life?" Scott snarled.

"It ain't exactly 'private,' kid," Logan said. "That's the point we're makin' here. Try to keep up, college boy. At the very least, try to quiet the fuck down. Or get your girlfriend to. Christ." He turned back to Warren. "Personally, I never woulda pegged Jeannie for a screamer."

"It's the telepath mojo," Warren intoned.

"You know, the real question here isn't if I should apologize to Jean," Scott said, slamming his tool chest shut. "It's which one of you I should blast to dust first."

"Yeah, well, while you're thinking it over, how about apologizing to Jeannie?" Logan said, steering Scott out of the hangar and down the hall. "Just tell her you're a fucking idiot who's only in charge because you're Xavier's pet. Hearing you say it out loud will make her feel better. Make me feel better, too."

"If she keeps giving you hell, just remind her that we all make mistakes," Warren urged. "Remind her of that time she had the Jell-O shots and started telling us all about your sex life and the pool table and the Stairmaster."

"What?" Scott yelped.

"Oh," Warren said. "Right. I forgot. You were out of the room. Well, never mind. The point here is that she's probably sorry she told us all that – God knows we are – and you're sorry you had lunch with Emma and didn't tell her right away."

"Just fucking grovel," Logan said, shoving Scott toward the medlab door. "We all know you're whipped. Make sure she knows it too. She ain't likely to hit you, because she likes you pretty. And if she does hit you, you can always scream child abuse."

"I think that what Logan means," Warren said diplomatically, "is that Jean really does know you love her, but Emma triggers her insecurities, and when you give the impression you're trying to hide things, it just makes it worse."

"This is unbelievable," Scott muttered. "I've fallen into a parallel universe where Jean and I fight and the two of you make sense."

"Fuck you, cupcake," Logan retorted. "I don't give a shit if she kicks you to the curb. I just don't want her to kick the shit out of _me_ while she's at it."

"And I don't want to have to listen to all the whining," Warren said. "Jean whines about you, you whine about her, Charles whines about his headaches and my butler whines about the odor in my clothes caused by close proximity to Logan. I have better ways to spend my time, Scott."

"Keep it up and you'll be spending your time scooping your guts off the floor, Blondie," Logan growled.

Warren patted Scott on the shoulder. "Good luck. We'll be right here. And if things get bad, well, Hank is right down the hall, and he knows your blood type."

Warren leaned one shoulder against the wall and massaged his temples as Scott disappeared into the medlab. "God, and to think people wonder why I left the team. I can't deal with all this drama. It's like the mutant 'O.C.' meets 'Fear Factor.' "

Logan cocked his head and listened. "OK, he's whining – or that might be the mutt; it's hard to tell. Now he's going on about how he never meant to upset her. Don't think she's buying it. Shit, is that the best he can do?"

"Give him time," Warren said phlegmatically. "He needs to work the dimples, too."

Logan groaned as voices rose sharply in the medlab, punctuated by the sound of a tray of medical instruments being flung against the wall. "He just told Jean that their relationship is nothing like what he had with Emma," Logan reported. "That with Emma it was all about great sex. Jesus H. Christ. And to think that stuck-up little shit says _I'm_ the dumb one."

"They'll straighten it out," Warren said absently, checking his Blackberry. "It's not their first emo episode, and it won't be their last. You should have seen them during the Jailbait Years."

"Yeah, what's up with that – oh, no," Logan said, wincing. "Oh, fuck. Like I don't have fucking enough to deal with today. Goddamn it." He pushed away from the wall and began storming down the hall toward the elevator.

"What? What?" Warren asked, looking up from his e-mail. "Am I going to be able to make my next meeting, or am I doomed to be a mutant Dr. Phil all afternoon? Don't just stomp off, Chewbacca, speak!"

"Screw you, Bird Boy," Logan grumbled over his shoulder. "Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck_. I gotta go find some earplugs."


End file.
